Derby Day: Part III – The Post-Mortem
An outrage occurred this afternoon on Epsom Downs: a horse got beat. The Queen’s horse got beat. The favourite in the market GOT BEAT. Of course we are all morally outraged by this…this… treason. One needs to apportion blame and somehow and in grudging fashion hand over the winner’s trophy to sit on une FRENCH mantelpiece.
The blog, having heard from everyone and the kitchen sink this afternoon, decided to talk to the horse that GOT BEAT direct. This is what the desperately, unlucky and we can hardly credit it vanquished hero said.
Terribly hot afternoon what? Didn’t fancy it greatly to be honest. Got a bit hot under the collar down to the start. Then those proles shoved me in the stalls well early, so I had a little nap and missed the orf. Well that didn’t bother me much, after all I am the Queen’s Horse and it was one’s Right Royal Destiny to win The Derby. So orf I galloped and Ryan, the pilot, did his best but what with taking our own time to get going we had to run absolutely miles off course because the peasants on those carthorses just did not get out of my way. Do they know who I am?
Well eventually I managed to get a bit of a wriggle on down the hill but, and would you believe this, one’s front shoe flew orf and then some froggy horse came whizzing past my right nostril and they said he had won. Well of course, the young froggy chap had realised his terrible treachery immediately he went past me. He stood up in his stirrups and tried to stop his horse Pour Moi (geddit) by hauling on its mouth before the winning post and then, in desperation, he flung his arm in the air in an admission of guilt. ‘Mea culpa’ he shouted at me in abject apology over his shoulder. Oh, what had he done? Ruined the country’s good day out, that’s what.
Orf with his head!
And then there was a great wailing and many gnashings of teeth throughout the land. Republican plot and conspiracy theories abound. Tonight, fat bookies get fatter on the nation’s hard-earned dough, invested in good faith in the Royal Horse who woz robbed, and the ever-loyal Clare Balding went home in tears and ate her hat in protest.